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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782104">well everybody's got a secret, sonny</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminoussbeings/pseuds/luminoussbeings'>luminoussbeings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Dean Winchester, Brothers, Coming Out, Gay Sam Winchester, Gen, Season 1 era, fuck john winchester all my homies hate john winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,753</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27782104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminoussbeings/pseuds/luminoussbeings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not right,” Sam says.</p><p>Dean keeps his hands tight on the steering wheel. He doesn’t look at Sam.</p><p>“If you’re gonna tell me I’m a disgrace to the Winchester name,” he says finally, his voice light, “then you’ll have to get in line. Dad’s been telling me that ever since he caught me out back with Will Hutchings in the summer of ‘99.”</p><p>or: sam and dean both think the other is a homophobe, when really they're just two dumb gay brothers.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>821</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>well everybody's got a secret, sonny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Remember,” Sam says. “Information on the missing artifacts. One round <em> at the most</em>. And then we’re out of here, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, eyeing the neon tinged windows. A burst of music and a waft of stale beer escape into the street as the door spills open, followed by a group of stumbling blondes clad in impressively low-cut tops. Dean steps forward to offer them directions—hey, helping people’s part of the job description, and these girls could probably use it—when Sam thumps him on the back of the head.</p><p>“Ouch,” Dean complains, turning to intercept Sam’s withering look.</p><p>“Dean. Focus.” </p><p>“Jeez, Sammy, lighten up a bit, wouldya? It’s a <em> college </em>bar,” Dean grins, spreading his arms out wide. “You’re back among your people! Hot nerds, hot sorority girls, hot frat—”</p><p>“And all those people are gonna be in serious danger unless we get the access code to the exhibit <em> tonight</em>.”</p><p>Dean sighs, some of the excitement leaching out of him. “Look, man, I <em> know that</em>. I’m just saying—”</p><p>“Do you?” Sam asks, an eyebrow raised. “Because I’m starting to think you care more about—<em>investigating</em>—the student body than actually solving this case.”</p><p>Dean eyes him. Sam’s upset, and it’s obvious, despite his best efforts to play it off. Not about Dean—well, maybe a little about Dean. But there’s something bigger. </p><p>It’s been exactly two months since Jesse died, Dean realizes. Dean didn’t know Sam’s roommate well—the boy was nice enough, if a little jockish—but it’s clear that Sam cared a lot about him, just as it’s clear Sam still blames himself for his friend’s death.</p><p>Something in Dean’s gut twists. It should be <em> Dean </em> that Sam’s blaming, not himself, and Dean can’t help dreading the moment when Sam wakes up to that.</p><p>Maybe a college bar wasn't the greatest idea, after all.</p><p>Sam’s still watching him with that half-challenging, half-desperate expression. For a moment, he looks so much like his ten-year-old self that it physically hurts—<em> why isn’t Dad home yet, you </em> promised <em> he would be</em>—and once again, Dean can’t give him the answers he wants.</p><p>He taps his jaw, mind working. There’s two ways this could go—one, he could have a big heart-to-heart with Sam right now, confronting past trauma and sharing their feelings in an emotionally healthy way.</p><p>Or two, he could distract and evade.</p><p>It’s not even a choice.</p><p>“Oho, <em> now </em> I see the problem,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Sam. “You’re just jealous because in one night, I’m gonna get more chicks begging me to—what’d you call it?—investigate their ‘student bodies’,” Dean says with a waggle of his eyebrows so suggestive that Sam actually winces, “than you hooked up with your entire time at Stanford.”</p><p>For a moment, something unreadable passes Sam’s face. Then his jaw sets, and Dean can tell he’s rising to the bait. <em> Good</em>, he silently urges. <em> Make it a competition. Make it fun. Make me think I didn’t ruin your life completely by dragging you back to the only path you never wanted, back to the brother who only ever let you down.  </em></p><p>“Okay,” Sam says. His voice is flat, but there’s a telltale sparkle in his eyes that makes Dean’s chest loosen, just slightly. “Then I’ll tell you what. You prove you can get the access code <em> without </em>seducing a girl—nope, not even a little,” he adds as Dean starts to protest, “and I’ll let you pick the cases for the next 3 weeks.”</p><p>Dean considers. He pulls an exaggerated ‘thinking face’—lips pursed, thumb and forefinger stroking chin—until Sam’s face breaks into an unwitting smile.</p><p>“Tough terms,” Dean says finally, “but nothing I can’t handle.” He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. “Let’s do this.” </p><p>***</p><p>Inside the bar, the air is thick and the floor sticks to his boots with each step. Music pulses; guitar riffs and the thrum of bass sync with every heartbeat in the room. Dean loves it immediately. Fuck, maybe he <em> should’ve </em>gone to college. </p><p>Under mutual unspoken agreement, Dean and Sam split up, each covering a portion of the room. Dean heads straight for the bar—fuck whatever Sam said about just one round, Dean deserves a few after the month he’s had. His first glass goes down easily. And by his second, he doesn’t even feel guilty about it.</p><p>“Cinnamon whiskey,” someone says. “Interesting choice.” </p><p>Dean looks up, the retort he’d been queuing catching in his throat. Jesus, this guy is <em> hot</em>. He’s leaning against the bar, flop of curly black hair pushed messily in his eyes. He looks a bit older than college-aged—grad student, maybe?—and when he catches Dean’s eye, his smile is crooked. Slowly, deliberately, he breaks Dean’s gaze and trails his eyes up and down Dean’s body. </p><p>Something hot thrums in Dean’s blood, something reckless, something like the thrill of a hunt or pushing 90 on the highway. “Well, what can I say,” he grins, leaning closer, “I’m an interesting guy.”</p><p>***</p><p>It’s quiet on the drive back. Dean’s long since sobered up, the whiskey leaving him with nothing but a headache and the vague sense that something is definitely off. Sam’s resisted every attempt at small talk so far, and Dean can feel the tension in the car steadily increasing to the point where he’s wracking his brains for what he could’ve done to piss his brother off. And when Dean thinks he can’t take it any longer, Sam bursts out, “You shouldn’t have done that.”</p><p>“Done what?”</p><p>“Flirted with that guy at the bar like that.”</p><p>Every muscle in Dean’s body stills. <em> Oh</em>. He’d been wondering when it’d come to this. “I got the access code, didn’t I?” he says carefully. “I don’t know what’s so—”</p><p>“It’s not right,” Sam says.</p><p>Dean falls silent. The streetlights cast a kaleidoscope on the pavement, blurring faster as he pushes the gas. A rock song blares somewhere on the radio, lyrics indistinguishable amid the static. Dean keeps his hands on the wheel and doesn’t look at Sam.</p><p>“If you’re gonna tell me I’m a disgrace to the Winchester name,” Dean says finally, his voice light, “then you’ll have to get in line. Dad’s been telling me that ever since he caught me out back with Will Hutchings in the summer of ‘99.” He smiles tightly at the memory. He’d gotten one hell of a beating, but Will was a good enough kisser he’d barely even cared.</p><p>“What—no, that’s not funny, Dean. God, this is what I’m talking about—I mean you shouldn’t toy with people like that when you’re not. When they’re.” Sam breaks off, staring determinedly out the window.</p><p>Dean frowns, now thoroughly confused. “I’m not what?”</p><p>“Christ, Dean, you <em> know </em>what I’m talking about.” </p><p>Dean’s confusion slides straight into frustration. “Look, man, if you’re gonna call me a queer, just spit it out already. I don’t have all day.”</p><p>“God, just <em> shut up</em>, Dean, would you?” Sam slams his hand on the dash, and Dean startles. “You realize that it’s 2005 now. Making jokes about—about gay people, or pretending to be one just for information, or acting like it’s all a big gag—that’s not funny anymore.”</p><p>Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. This… wasn’t where he’d been expecting the conversation to go. “You think I’m being homophobic?” Dean asks slowly. </p><p>Sam gives him a pointed look. “If the shoe fits—”</p><p>“Sammy, I’m bisexual,” Dean says. </p><p>Sam’s mouth snaps shut. They hit a pothole, and Dean swears as his head jostles against the seat. He looks over at Sam’s continuously stupefied expression and sighs. </p><p>“Look, Sammy, I wasn’t exactly subtle, alright? You’ve seen me flirting with dudes in every city across the country. You really think I’m that big of a dick that I’d do all this as a joke?” He shakes his head. “Honestly, I thought you knew by now, and just didn’t want to bring it up. And hey, that’s cool, better than what I got from Dad. I can roll with don’t-ask, don’t tell—”</p><p>“I’m gay,” says Sam. </p><p>For a moment, Dean’s mind is completely blank. Then he catches Sam’s eye and they both burst out laughing. </p><p>“Shit, man,” Dean wheezes. “You’re telling me that John “no son of mine is a fuckin’ fairy” Winchester—<em>that </em> John Winchester—had two gay sons? Lord, that is priceless.”</p><p>“Will <em> Hutchings </em>?” Sam manages, doubled over in the passenger seat, “the preacher’s son? For real?”</p><p>“Shuddup! I didn’t have a lot of options, okay!”</p><p>“Man, I’m just impressed.” Sam shakes his head, blowing out a breath. “And all this time I thought you’d cut me out if you knew. God, Dad really did a number on us, huh?”</p><p>“That he did,” Dean says. He makes a left turn, and the last ten years of his life rearrange in his head, shifting to accommodate this new information. He looks over at Sam, mood sobering. “Wait. Jesse… Jesse wasn’t just your roommate, was he.”</p><p>Sam’s mouth flattens, and his chin jerks slightly. “We’d been together almost a year.”</p><p>“Christ. I’m so sorry, Sammy. I really am.” </p><p>“Not your fault,” Sam says gruffly, looking down.</p><p>“Hey,” says Dean. He reaches over and puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “And it’s not yours either, you hear me? I know you. I know that you like to think everything’s your fault, that you believe Dad when he gets drunk and starts spewing on about how you’re the one that got her killed. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything Dad ever said, alright? He was wrong about a lot of things—clearly—and he was wrong on that too. None of it was ever your fault.” </p><p>When Sam’s silent, Dean gives his shoulder a shake, taking his eyes from the road to stare him down. “<em>None of it</em>, you hear me?”</p><p>“Jesus, Dean, I hear you!” Sam says, shoving Dean’s hand away. “Just pay attention to the road before you get us both killed. If I get pancaked in a ditch before I can catch another dick, then so help me God, I <em> will </em>haunt your ass.”</p><p>Dean lets out a bark of surprised laughter, then purposely swerves just to see Sam’s reaction. Sam retaliates by changing the radio to some god awful pop station and crooning along, batting Dean’s hand away whenever he tries to change it. </p><p>They’ll be alright, Dean thinks, watching the lights of the city disappear in his rearview. He and Sammy. They’ll be alright. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the natural product of bingewatching the first 4 seasons of spn for the first ever time in 2020 right before finals week..... i am fucking crazy but i am free. come be crazy with me @gaysie on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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